Sunday, March 23, 2008

There were 'red bananas' for sale in the supermarket. They actually looked more purple than red. At £1.99 they were twice the price of yellow bananas. I wanted to widen my fruit experience, so I bought them. Newsflash: they just taste like yellow bananas. There, I've saved you a pound.

I have blog guilt for not updating the blog.

I had a couple of month's break from Mickel Therapy when I moved in with Nice Man and started my part-time job. All that is still going well, but readers, I can't say I feel fully recovered. Instead I feel like I often have a way to go and don't know how to get there.

My MT therapist is well-meaning to the point of evangelism. She really wants to help. I went back to see her again and she was urging me back to the process. MT is not about bare effort or force. Au contraire. It's about trying to get into some sort of mind/body flow where mysterious forces combine to lessen the 'symptom load.' The hardest part for me, is that it sometimes feels like bare effort and force and I don't get the gains I'd hoped for.

But, I am not dismissing it either. And that is important. I'm just letting you know where I am and hoping aloud that I can get back into the flow.

It's good to have an Easter holiday. Nice Man bought two creme eggs, and I thanked him for the gesture and confessed that I can't really eat creme eggs (wondering whether I should just force one down, so as not to seem ungrateful, my inner Mickel Therapist crying 'your bodymind won't be happy!') And, furthermore, Nice Man is fully aware of my Gillian McKeith gene. As I hesitated, he popped both creme eggs in his mouth before breakfast, just to observe my horrified response. I might find it easier to stir a bag of white sugar into a tin of syrup and drink it from a chocolate cup inside a vat of candyfloss. I wouldn't feel queasy at all. How did I manage to eat them as a kid? Happy Easter-ing.

Saturday, March 01, 2008

You know how taps (faucets) are made of chrome silvery stuff? Well, the bathroom taps in our new flat are merely coated in the silvery stuff and (barely visible to the eye) it's started to chip and crack, like tin foil only sharper. When I turn on the hot tap, I sometimes get papercuts in my fingers. I am learning to turn on the tap by barely touching it. Meanwhile, I'm waiting on the landlord agency to fix my fall-aparty chest of drawers. If I mention the taps, they'll think I'm strange. There's nothing to see. They'd have to move in with us and get a few papercuts before they realised the predicament.

I started getting scam texts that say 'I did the girly thing for leap year and proposed to him! He said Yes! Lucky Man.' One just said 'How the devil are you?'